


one thousand lonely stars hiding in the cold

by Elendraug



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Masturbation, Supernatural Rarepair Shipfest 2013, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hard sci-fi: Balthazar is a smuggler. Crowley bankrolls him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one thousand lonely stars hiding in the cold

**Author's Note:**

> Title (and a lot of inspiration) was taken from ["Instant Crush" by Daft Punk](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9BK3xcRH1g). ♫
> 
> Illustrations by the tremendously talented [Megan](artmcnobody.tumblr.com). ♥
> 
> There are a decent number of easter eggs in here. Enjoy!

**α**

The _Melchior_ drifted on its pre-programmed path through the galaxy. Balthazar leaned back in his chair, hovering two feet in the air, the smooth white plastic held aloft by powerful opposed magnets. He leisurely pressed a button on the arm of the chair to redial his most recently called contact.

The feed was still buffering when he began to speak.

“Monday’s shipment ought to reach Corsair by the weekend.” He crossed one leg over the other. “If Gavorn pays me on time, I’ll be leaving for Fortuna by that evening.”

A laugh came through the speakers.

“That’d take a miracle.” Crowley took a sip of whisky and licked his lips. “Gavorn _never_ pays on time. Ought to hold a gun to his head from the start.”

“You know I’d love to.” Balthazar grinned against the rim of his glass, then drank.

“Don’t unload a damned thing until that bastard settles his account.”

Crowley ran his tongue over his lips again. Balthazar stared openly. He raised the volume of the video chat.

“You off to another meeting?” he asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Crowley folded his hands. “Won’t be more than a few hours.”

“You’re a tease.” Balthazar groaned his frustration, staring up through the skylight. The stars blurred past.

“I’ll just have to make it up to you, won’t I?”

“That a promise?”

Crowley smirked. “Do I ever break my promises, darling?”

Hearing that deep voice for the first time in three days had him riled up. Balthazar slid a hand quite visibly down into his slacks.

Crowley took a long swig of his drink. “Don’t start without me, now.”

Balthazar leered at him. “You’d better hurry that meeting along.”

“ _Now_ who’s the tease?”

Balthazar shrugged, and made no attempt to hide the fact that he was touching himself. “You know I’m not going anywhere. Rush back, will you?”

Crowley offered him a fond smile. “Of course.”

Balthazar gave him a cheeky wave goodbye and disconnected the call. As tempting as it was to have a quick wank, he supposed he should wait. Just this once.

He was not a patient man.

  
  
[full res](http://i.imgur.com/Xpd5RoA.png)   


**β**

 

The cargo bay occupied the entire space beneath Balthazar’s living quarters, visible through a large pane of reinforced glass set into the floor. At the moment it was chock full of crates with various labels and points of origin. For the most part he dealt in scrap and salvage, but this week’s shipment involved transport of pressurized canisters of a particular gas. While it had its legal medical purposes, it’d become popular as a recreational drug thanks to its euphoric and hallucinogenic effects.

Balthazar hadn’t tried it since he was a teenager, but if this delivery went well, a serendipitous high would be a much appreciated tip.

The canisters lined up neatly in corner of the hold, metal gleaming as light from his quarters streamed between his feet to reach the room below. In seventy-two hours, they’d be off his ship, and earn him enough to live comfortably for a month.

The ship was on course. The goods were safe. 

Balthazar smiled to himself. There was a reason Crowley trusted him enough to bankroll his efforts.

Satisfied, he strode past the small kitchen and entered the bathroom. He had plenty of time for a shower and a snack, even if Crowley excused himself early from his conference call. One could hope.

Balthazar undressed and carefully set aside his clothing. Although technology had advanced sufficiently to create high-efficiency appliances that required little water, there was no sense laundering clothes that didn’t yet need it.  
While on his ship, he showered every few days, unless he’d been doing strenuous physical labor, which generally only occurred when he was docked at a port, anyway. As such, the hot water was a blessing. He sighed, content, and closed his eyes. After sparing a brief moment to enjoy the feeling, he scrubbed at his scalp and his skin, rinsed off, and wrapped a towel around himself before evaporation could leave him shivering in the stall.

He dried off and stepped out.

His necklace always went on first—a pendant he’d worn since he was a child, on a simple stainless chain. Undershirt. Dress shirt. Briefs, slacks, belt. Socks and polished shoes.

Just because he was alone didn’t mean he had to compromise personal style.

 

**γ**

 

Scissors snipped off the corner of a vacuum-sealed bag, and Balthazar squeezed broccoli cheese soup into a large mug. While his ship’s kitchen was equipped to prepare nearly anything, it still required the necessary ingredients. All he had available was liquor and prepackaged food.

The weekend delivery meant he could restock his refrigerator, instead of fishing from the back of the pantry, where there lingered stale packets of instant coffee and hot cocoa in flavors he didn’t like that’d been gifted to him years ago and he’d forgotten to throw away.

His fingertips pressed a pattern by muscle memory. Several beeps later, the microwave hummed to life. He watched the mug as it rotated, illuminated by the yellow light.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a meal with anyone. With an erratic schedule and his few friends scattered across the galaxy, he typically ate alone, or accompanied by the staticky television networks of any nearby planets.

The microwave beeped its completion. The smell of processed cheddar would linger for hours, no doubt.

Balthazar stood at the counter, spooned soup into his mouth, and stared at the stove top without truly noticing the details of stains that had spilled and were never cleaned up.

 

**δ**

 

He swiveled idly in his chair for another hour while reading news from Miltia (his home, that he hasn’t visited in ages, not since his mother died) and waited for the call to come through. When it did, the video filled the screen and minimized the article ( _Life Recycling Act Deemed Inhumane; Those Affected Demand Aid_ ).

Crowley was already shirtless and likely tipsy, with flushed cheeks and a shit-eating grin.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he teased.

“But it’s clean,” Balthazar retorted. “I got washed up, just for you.”

“I much prefer you dirty.” Crowley drained his glass—it looked like whisky, it was probably whisky—and licked at an ice cube as gravity pushed it against his upper lip.

“I didn’t realize those traits were mutually exclusive.” Balthazar began to unbutton his shirt, posture upright, at the edge of his seat.

“By the time I’m through with you, you’ll need another shower.” Crowley refilled his glass, then wiped up a stray drop with the pad of his thumb. He licked it off.

Balthazar shrugged out of his shirt, letting its sleeves drape over the arms of the chair. He set to work on his belt buckle, eager. “Yeah? And why’s that?” His belt clinked onto the floor.

Crowley leaned in towards the camera to approximate eye contact, lightyears apart. When he flicked his gaze lower, Balthazar made a show of trailing his hands over his chest, to hook into his slacks and push them down to mid-thigh.

“Because,” Crowley continued, “I’m going to watch you stroke your cock until you’ve made a mess.”

Balthazar ran his tongue over his teeth and took himself into his fist. Admittedly, he was half-hard before Crowley had even rung him up, but who could blame him? He’d been looking forward to this.

A wave of warmth swept over him, settling at the nape of his neck and in the throb of his dick. All it would take to get him off was Crowley talking to him, low and lewd, but the visuals certainly didn’t hurt. It was all too easy to imagine that tongue playing at the head of his cock instead of the glass tumbler, and _god_ , how he’d imagined just that.

“Left you speechless, have I?”

Balthazar settled back into the chair and canted his hips upward into the tight grip of his fingers. “Just trying to focus on my performance.”

“Well worth it, thus far.” Crowley’s free hand delved offscreen; his eyes closed for a brief moment. “Although your chest seems awfully neglected.”

“Oh, shame on me.” Balthazar nudged the necklace aside, the metal cool against his skin. He brushed his thumb over his nipple until it peaked, continuing to jack himself off all the while. “Is this better?”

Crowley’s breath came in a short huff. “Much.”

They watched each other with half-lidded eyes. A few more minutes passed before Crowley finally obliged his partner and angled the camera to give Balthazar a full view.

“Fuck.” Balthazar drew in air through his teeth. “I want you.”

Crowley laughed; the sound sent heat curling through the pit of Balthazar’s stomach. “I know you do. Who wouldn’t?”

Balthazar tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I wish you were here,” he sighed. He clenched his fist around his cock and stroked firmly, dragging slowly over the head and quickly up and down his length. He groaned, indulgent and unashamed, and bucked into his hand.

“That’s it,” Crowley urged. “Imagine you’re fucking me over this desk, that’s what I’m picturing. Just like that…”

A few more practiced movements and Balthazar came hard, one hand gripping the arm of the chair to push himself forward, the other pumping through his orgasm. In an effort to delay another shower, he leaned over to ejaculate onto the floor instead of onto his stomach.

Heavy breathing and strained noises from the video stream confirmed that Crowley had gotten off, too. Balthazar held his sticky hand aloft and smirked at the screen. “I do believe that counts as keeping your promise.”

Crowley wiped his hands on a crumpled tissue. “Damn right, it’d better count.”

Balthazar sank back against the chair and laughed.

 

**ε**

 

His bed was recessed into the floor, the top of the mattress flush with the surrounding tile. A small collection of well-worn novels and newer technical manuals lined an inset shelf. While paper books were hardly considered rare, they were uncommon. For a few things in his life, he felt sentimental -- these were some of those things.

He slept peacefully, dreaming of daily minutiae, naked save for the sheet that covered him. The low hum of the HVAC provided the background noise to which he was accustomed.

A vicious impact rocked the ship. Balthazar jolted awake, disoriented and panicking. He braced himself against the surrounding wall in a struggle to focus.

A pre-recorded voice rattled off warnings through the ambient speakers as the onboard AI, CASPAR, diagnosed the craft’s status.

“Low-level collision with hull. Minor damage to cargo bay door. Manual inspection advised.” There was an insistent, droning note, and the message repeated. “Low-level collision with hull…”

“Shit.” Balthazar groped around for the underwear he’d shed before lying down, but couldn’t find it in the tangle of sheets. Not quickly enough for his liking, anyway.

Irritated, he climbed out of bed and hurried towards the bridge, his bare feet padding quietly on the flooring. He sat down and spun the chair to face the screen. 

“What did we hit?” 

But of course there was no answer. No one was around to do so.

He rewound through the surveillance video feed until he came across the culprit: a large chunk of unrecognizable debris. Could’ve been anything, really, from a broken piece of a discarded satellite to literal trash, but it was metal and large enough to upset the balance of the craft.

Balthazar backtracked to stare down into the cargo hold. Several crates had shifted, including one that held a considerable amount of scrap jewelry that had scattered across the hold, glinting slightly in the scarce light. For the most part, everything seemed intact. He’d investigate further once he’d gotten some rest.

Exhausted, he trudged back to his bed and lay back down. Too much unnecessary bullshit.

 

**ζ**

 

When he woke again, arguably during what counted as ‘morning’ on his ship and his own internal clock, he was groggy and light-headed. Balthazar discounted it as nothing more than a result of waking up during the ‘night’ to deal with the crashed debris. He sat up and took a moment to gather his wits. He felt strangely short of breath. Something was buzzing, or maybe it was just his ears ringing.

“Up and at ‘em, Balty. You can do it,” he assured himself. Maybe he’d spend more time stretching today before his exercise routine; something to snap out of this funk.

He dressed slowly in the clothes he’d worn yesterday, and skipped bothering with the kitchen on his way to the bridge. His appetite hadn’t woken up yet, either, it seemed.

With such an open layout, all it took was him turning to face the bridge to see that something was very wrong. 

There was someone in his chair.

The rational side of his mind insisted that it wasn’t possible. He was out in space, nowhere close to any inhabited planets or colonies, and the ship would’ve warned him ages ago if there’d been a breach of any kind. There was no conceivable way there could be anyone else in here.

All protests faded from his mind when the chair’s occupant spun around to smirk and raise a glass to him.

“Sleep well?” Crowley asked.

“How did you—”

“Don’t worry about it. Isn’t it enough that I’m here?” Crowley sipped at his drink. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Balthazar rubbed at his eyes. Crowley was still there.

“Hold on, I’ve got to… I’ve got to check what happened.”

He continued forward to access the full report of the overnight collision, but found that he had trouble focusing. Balthazar shook his head and scrolled through the data. It was a blur, like trying to read a book while dreaming. There was a flashing warning about the cargo hold; he stared at the words for what felt like an eternity, and though his eyes tracked the lines of text, he couldn’t comprehend any of it.

“You’re so worked up,” Crowley remarked. “You deserve to relax.”

“I’m trying to work,” he insisted. “There’s something I’m forgetting.”

Crowley slipped his arms around Balthazar’s waist and spoke against his ear. “The work is what you need to forget.” 

And when he said it like that, it was difficult to think about much else. The instant Balthazar turned in the embrace, Crowley’s mouth was on his, kissing him soundly.

“Let no one say you’re not convincing,” Balthazar murmured.

“There’s a reason I’m well off.” He bit at Balthazar’s lower lip, greedy for the feel of it between his teeth. “And why you’re able to come and go as you please from ports that’d arrest anyone else for what you routinely unload.”

Crowley’s hands gripped Balthazar’s hips to push him back against the console. The air smelled sweet. Balthazar felt giddy. There was an annoying noise in the background; he ignored it.

“Is this what they mean by greasing palms?” he taunted. 

“One can always do with lubrication, love.” Crowley sank to his knees and unzipped Balthazar’s fly. “Luckily for me, I’ve a clever tongue.”

Balthazar splayed his hands on the countertop; the edge of it was digging into his ass. It would’ve been uncomfortable if Crowley hadn’t been busy pulling down his briefs and freeing his erection. He watched, entranced, and sucked in a harsh breath as Crowley swallowed him down.

“Crowley,” he groaned, unable to tear his gaze away from his lips wrapped around his cock, slick with saliva and working him eagerly. “Oh, god…”

Balthazar moved one hand to cradle the back of Crowley’s head, to steady him and encourage him, maybe play with his hair. Anything to ensure he knew his efforts were much appreciated and desperately needed. It’d been too damn long since he’d had sex in person, instead of over the network.

  
  
[full res](http://i.imgur.com/wPKWXWG.png)   


He’d let his eyes fall shut and was getting closer when Crowley’s shouting broke his concentration. Startled, he looked down to see what was the matter, but the voice was coming from behind him, from the speakers—and the only thing going on below was Balthazar’s own hand, jerking himself off.

Everything felt so damned _foggy_ , as if in a dream, as if begging one’s body to sprint away from danger, wearing shoes of lead.

Balthazar whirled to face the screen once more, and gaped. _30 missed calls_ , and a good day later than the last time he recalled checking a clock.

Crowley, the real Crowley, was looking back at him with fingers threaded tightly in his hair and sweat on his brow. “Balthazar, where in bloody _fuck_ have you been?”

“I… something hit the ship,” he stammered. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

“Scan the environment,” Crowley demanded. “Something knocked you out. Are the drugs secured down there?”

Thinking felt nearly impossible. “I have no idea.”

There was a long pause. Crowley cleared his throat. “Not that I mind the view, but given the circumstances, maybe you shouldn’t be rubbing one out.”

Balthazar paled, mortified, and tucked himself back into his pants.

**η**

 

Balthazar knelt on the glass floor, squinting down into the room to see what his cameras may have missed. Sure enough, the gas containers were on their sides and leaking colorless gas into the ship. Under normal conditions on most habitable planets, the gas would sink to the floor and stay at foot level; with the reduced gravity of the craft, it’d mixed thoroughly with everything he was breathing in.

“CASPAR, seal off the cargo hold and cycle the air at twice the normal rate.”

The fans kicked into a higher gear. Balthazar couldn’t remember hearing them work so fast on any other occasion. He zipped up his jacket against the sudden breeze.

Despite his own incapacitation, the ship and its autopilot had dutifully continued on its course. Within a few hours, he’d arrive at the port and could breathe some truly fresh air. Now that the problem was diagnosed, it was well on its way to being remedied.

Balthazar stood up, glared at the cargo bay once more, and walked towards his kitchen.

Maybe it was about time to try some of that hot cocoa…. and spike it.

 

**θ**

Corsair’s spaceport was a combination of an open-air market, various small businesses in various small buildings, and a large row of skyscrapers that surrounded it all. While corporate funded, the residents had taken back the central section and dedicated it to a sculpture collection from local artists.

It was these works that Balthazar idly scrutinized as he waited for his turn to see the medic on duty. The bench was white, smooth, and clean, save for a few cigarette burns peppered across the plastic.

While he’d recovered almost entirely once the gas was filtered out of the air supply, the risk of brain damage was still a concern. Crowley had insisted that he get himself taken care of as soon as he landed, and since he’d offered to foot the bill, as well, Balthazar could hardly refuse. It’d been years since he’d had a true exam, anyway; he’d have his wrists checked out while he was here. Decades of lifting and typing had not been kind to them.

Footsteps approached him. Balthazar glanced up, his eyes going wide when he realized who’d come to see him.

“Crowley?”

“In the flesh,” he confirmed. After so long seeing him on a screen, and _only_ on a screen, it was awkward to now be within arm’s reach of each other. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing all right, all things considered.” He shrugged, and gave him a warm smile. “Better now that you’re here. How’d you manage that, by the way?”

“I’ve got connections, and deep pockets.” Crowley grinned. “Highway robbery, what they charge to transport you through a relay, but I figured you were probably worth it.”

“Just probably?”

“Can’t let my best smuggler handle all this alone, can I? I covered the costs of the lost cargo. And I owe you dinner, at the very least.”

Balthazar smirked. “I know of a few bars with the best bad food you’ve never tasted.”

“Let’s get you a relatively clean bill of health first. Then we can drink until we’re sick.”

Balthazar broke eye contact to look back at the sculptures. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter than before. “I’m glad you came.”

To Balthazar’s surprise, Crowley leaned down to wrap his arms around his shoulders and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Couldn’t bear to leave you here by yourself. I had to make sure you were okay.”

Balthazar lifted a hand to hold onto Crowley’s arm. “Next time, I’m going to—”

The doctor on duty stepped towards the bench, tablet and stylus in hand. “Patient 413? We need you to fill these out.”

Balthazar took the tablet from her. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Crowley nodded to the doctor and sat down next to Balthazar. The pub would be a relief.

  
  
[full res](http://i.imgur.com/FD0k3Kl.png)   


**Ω**


End file.
